


One, Two, Fuck It’s You

by JayMor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (as is tradition), Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Light amounts of wanting to die from Tony, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, because Tony refuses to be comforted, because let’s be honest I was OVER infinity war, generic post-infinity war vibes if you completely ignore the way infinity war ends, he doesn’t act on it, honestly over Steve Rogers too, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayMor/pseuds/JayMor
Summary: Tony Stark has a soulmate—two actually. Except they’re a legendary pairing and have no room for him, especially given that one is dead and the other (recently discovered not-dead) hates him. And then they’re both not dead. Which doesn’t solve the hating him issue.Tony is kind of over it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 98
Kudos: 713





	One, Two, Fuck It’s You

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, there’s some SEMI SUICIDAL IDEATION in this fic. It’s not active, so much as a passive response (on Tony’s part) to Very Terrible Things(TM) happening to him. I didn’t explicitly tag it bc it’s not super prevalent in the story, and tony never acts on it, but if that’s a trigger, please be careful!

Tony lives by two very _simple_ rules.

Rule one: you can’t trust anything you’re handed. Not love, from nameless faces who drape themselves across him in the club. Not kindness, even from Obadiah Stane. Not a soldering iron, handed to him backwards by his own father. No one gives anything for free, and _everything_ can hurt.

Rule two: soulmates mean jackshit. Sure, Tony has a swirly, star-laden mess on his left arm, but that doesn’t mean that he shares it with anyone else who _wants_ him.

In fact, Tony knows that his soulmate(s) won’t want him. Because that’s a thing. Soulmates. Plural. Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—America’s favorite star-spangled, spandexed military love fest. Not so much in the fifties, maybe, but in the 21st century? That shit is the love story of the ages.

They flash their tattoos one time and suddenly every tabloid ever is all _soulmates, torn apart by war, together till the end of the line_. The fact that they’re both men only makes the story sweeter, the couple a bastion for the LGBTQ community, two heroes that even the staunchest conservatives, patriotic and gun-toting couldn’t deny.

Tony is not a hero, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The media has never treated him kindly, not since he was fourteen at MIT and passed out drunk in the street in front of the police station, still a child trying to find his way back to his dorm after his first college party.

The abuse only continued as he grew older, the focus changing from his lifestyle to his soulmate—or lack thereof—and the disrespect Tony showed in his open promiscuity.

The fact that Tony has a mark, _had_ to have a mark, is irrelevant. No one has ever seen it, not through the layers of makeup and the long shirts and his suit sleeves, and as such, it might as well not exist.

Rhodey is the only one alive who knows what Tony’s mark looks like, the one who held him when Tony was barely fifteen and terrified, struggling at a university full of people who expected him to fail, alone and finally coming to grips with the fact that his soulmates were historic, a legend, and _dead_.

Or at least, Rhodey knows what Tony’s mark _looked_ like. Because that’s a thing too. That swirly star-laden mess on Tony’s left arm? Yeah that’s gone. Has been since Afghanistan, since Tony died once, twice, _three four five six_ times, a car battery strapped to his chest and shrapnel crawling towards his heart and Yinsen hovering over him bringing back _every single time_.

He died, and it’s like his soul went _ahhh_ , took a breath, and fucked off into oblivion, taking his mark with it. Forget that he didn’t stay dead—most days Tony wishes that he had.

It’s a good thing, Tony thinks, staring at himself in the mirror for the first time since he’d escaped in a jerry-rigged suit held together with desperation and grief and sheer fucking spite. His soulmates were dead. It’s only fitting he’s died too.

But then Steve is alive, freshly defrosted and not looking a day over twenty-five, and his first words to Tony are dripping with derision and blind fucking justice because _you aren’t **half** the man Howard was_ and suddenly Tony is realizing that, _hey_ , rule one and rule two are the same fucking rule. Because yeah soulmates are jackshit, and you don’t get anything for free, especially not your soulmate’s love, and Tony knows that, objectively, so it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but somehow the epiphany still has him doubling over, static in his ears while he chokes on nothing, Jarvis’ voice faint in the background. _Sir, you need to breathe, follow my counts, one two three in, one two three out, one two three—very good Sir_.

The fact that Steve’s mark isn’t even _on_ his skin anymore doesn’t seem to matter.

It’s foolish, and it’s weak, but Tony hates that he makes it back to Earth before the portal closes.

The shawarma tastes like ash on his tongue.

The worst part is Steve knows he has a second soulmate. He doesn’t know who—oh no—but he knows he has one. Won’t stop waxing poetic about it. Keeps asking Tony and Nat and Bruce and Clint and whoever will listen if they think that fate _knew_ , if fate wanted to make sure that Cap wouldn’t be lonely in _either_ of his timelines.

Tony never answers. Tony is lonely, and he is angry, and he is hurt, and on the dark nights where Tony hates himself the most, he drowns himself in whiskey and hopes against hope that Steve somehow becomes just as lonely and broken and jaded as him.

It’s a fine wish until Ultron, when it suddenly comes true, but not in any of the ways Tony wanted. Because Steve is lonely and Steve is broken and Steve is jaded, but instead of getting sad, Steve only gets _more_ righteous, more just, more bullheaded, defensive and insistent that he’s doing _right_.

And then the Winter Soldier is Bucky, and Steve doesn’t care about his second soulmate anymore, because he can get his _real_ soulmate back and everything is _fucking perfect_ (except Bucky assassinates a king, blows up a helicarrier, and is declared an international war criminal).

Which apparently doesn’t matter because Steve, despite all his star-spangled justice, _doesn’t give a shit_.

Granted, it could have been worse, was getting bad, Tony’s conversations with Steve more screaming than anything. Negotiations long broken down.

But Steve fucks off on his own, in the middle of Tony trying to finalize the Accords so that the rest of the world will let the Avengers continue to operate, instead of shipping them off to various countries to be imprisoned for the fallout of their actions, and makes an war criminal of _himself_ and half the other Avengers as well, just to save Bucky.

It’s a nightmare of PR, and requires the kissing of many _many_ political backsides (Tony can picture Steve’s face, disgusted and pride-hard), but Tony manages to get the Avengers mostly released and relatively pardoned, none the worse for wear minus a little extra international oversight.

Hawkeye is thankful. Vision is calm. Wanda spits in his face and calls him a traitor. Steve and Bucky are still in the wind.

Tony doesn’t fucking care.

Tony doesn’t care until he’s in Serbia, a vibranium shield in his chest crushing the one thing keeping him alive, a metal arm limp on the ground a few feet away, and two soulmates, backs turned, leaving him to die.

Except Tony doesn’t die.

Tony wishes he could die.

Tony doesn’t die and he _hates_ it. He pushes Pepper and Rhodey away with a vengeance, dives into Stark Industries, perfects and finalizes and re-perfects the Accords, talks to businessmen and politicians and celebrities, lobbies for the Avengers even when he’s convinced he’ll never be a part of them again, pours in money and resources and time and every second remembers two men, walking away while Tony chokes on blood.

Until Thanos.

Which ends with Tony in space losing Peter, and Steve losing Bucky and Tony almost dying again (why can’t he _die_ ) except he doesn’t and then he’s back on Earth and five years pass and Tony is alone and broken and crumpled and _why can’t he die_ and _Steve_ is on his doorstep telling Tony _we can fix this_ and Tony is done.

So he looks Steve in the eye, every inch of him brittle and cracking and sneers, “Give the fuck up Rogers. Maybe your _other_ soulmate is still around. You can go get yourself a consolation prize.”

He hates that Steve’s stricken face, ghost-white and jaw slack as he closes the door, makes him the happiest he’s been in years.

But then Bruce is back, big and green and at peace with himself in a way that makes Tony’s skin crawl, and Scott is alive and Clint is back from his murder vacation and Natasha is still a manipulative bitch but this time she’s _tired_ (she can still manipulate Tony ~~he lets her~~ ). So they invent time travel, and Tony meets his dad (who is still a bastard), and Natasha dies, and somehow none of that matters at all, because when they fight Thanos it’s still a losing battle.

But then Tony gets the gauntlet. And Strange’s words echo in his head ( _Stark must stay alive_ ). The gauntlet will kill him, Tony knows. But he looks at the battlefield and sees bodies. And he looks at Steve, who hates him. He thinks of Bucky, who is gone. And he looks at Thanos, frothing at the mouth about resources and setting things to right.

In the end, slipping his hand inside and wishing for it all to be _fixed_ is _easy_.

The pain ricochets up his arm, superheats the reactor, burns so intensely that Tony is crying, fat crocodile tears that do nothing. Tony is going to die, for real this time. Not because of shrapnel in his heart or a shield in his chest, but because of an ugly purple alien with a hard-on for genocide. Tony is going to die, and he’s _so fucking relieved_.

He snaps his fingers, tells Thanos to suck a dick, and blissfully, _finally_ , closes his eyes.

Except Tony doesn’t die.

Again.

( ~~Damn it.~~ )

Instead Tony opens his eyes to the drab paint of the Avengers medbay. Because of fucking course he’s alive. The fact that his left arm is wrapped all to shit and he can barely feel it—holy hell the burn scars must be terrifying—barely registers.

God forbid six stones of immeasurable power kill him. At this rate he’s going to live to a hundred and fifty.

Or maybe not, Tony amends, as Pepper and Rhodey come barreling around the corner, murder in their eyes.

Except they don’t say anything to Tony. Pepper wipes Tony’s sweaty hair off his forehead and Rhodey helps Tony change into soft sweatpants and they both treat Tony so _gently_ , like touching him wrong will break him.

This is not to say they’re not angry. Oh they’re angry. It’s obvious in tension of Rhodey’s posture and the sharp clench of Pepper’s jaw, but they’re angry at something else, at something _Not Tony_ , and Tony doesn’t know what to make of it.

(No one has ever _not_ been angry at Tony. It’s a skill. A curse? Brash, generally infuriating and impossible to love, that’s Tony Stark.)

Tony stays in the compound only until he is healed enough to move, still bandaged all to hell and barely walking, at which point Pepper and Rhodey bundle him up and ship him back to Stark Tower. Tony almost hates being back, hates the way the tower feels _empty_ , but it’s better than the compound, better than being so close to Steve and his righteousness and his disgust and the soulmate worth everything that Tony isn’t (Tony’s _other_ soulmate, because apparently Bucky Barnes came _back_ , just like everyone else when Tony snapped ~~except Natasha, not Natasha, Natasha was _truly gone_~~ ). And it’s good.

(It’s terrible.)

Objectively, Tony knows that being angry about _not dying_ is probably a reason to go back to that one therapist Pepper made him talk to once, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He doesn’t care about much, turns out. Not until the day he realized that his arm doesn’t hurt, and Pepper and Rhodey aren’t around to stop him, and he takes off the bandages.

There aren’t any burn scars. Instead there’s a swirly, star-laden mess.

Tony cries.

Tony cries, and then he drinks, and later he’s fairly certain that Rhodey wrestles him off the floor of his lab and into his bathtub where he vomits and vomits and wishes he could die.

In the morning he washes his face, puts on a suit, and struts into Stark Industries with a loud, “I’m not dead _yet_ motherfuckers.”

(Pepper gives him a side-eye like she _knows_ what he’s doing, but she doesn’t know. Not really.)

It goes like that for a while, Tony up to his elbows in his tech, plans and designs and meetings, studiously ignoring the Avengers and the news and anyone who could possibly ask _where is Iron Man_?

(Iron Man is dead, though no one knows that yet.)

And it’s good. Really. Tony finds himself slipping into a pleasant sort of numbness, a kind of apathetic complacency that serves him well.

Except two months later Steve shows up at Stark Tower, drenched with rain but still looking as perfect and patriotic as ever, Barnes cosplaying a wet mop behind him, and asks if they can stay.

And Tony— _more fool too him_ —says yes.

The story goes like this: Steve and Barnes spend so much time sniping at each other that Clint ( _Clint_ ) got so fed up with them that he banished them from the compound until they could quote, “work out their weird alpha bullshit”. Bruce ( _Bruce_ ) agreed. At which point Steve and Barnes, both full-time Avengers, realized that _as_ full-time Avengers banished from the full-time Avengers headquarters, they were both now _homeless_. At which point Steve gets the bright idea to come to Tony, because ( ~~Tony has never said no before~~ ) why the fuck not.

(Tony doesn’t mention the time Steve tried to kill him, even though he wants to. It’s not polite.)

Frankly, Tony doesn’t care about Steve. He _should_ , given they’re soulmates and all, but that feels too trite, too much like destiny bullshit, and any friendship he could have had with Steve is long rubbed raw by derision and justice and abrasive, cocksure patriotism.

It’s Barnes who’s interesting.

Tony hardly notices him at first, quiet and careful except around Steve, where he bristles and lashes out and screams (weird how they’re similar like that). It’s not till Barnes shows up outside his lab in the middle of the night, cradling his arm with a quiet _it hurts. Help?_ that Tony starts to take notice. And Barnes is—well—Barnes is incredible.

(It’s bullshit, frankly, how much Tony finds himself liking James Buchanan Barnes, given the he’s the bastard that killed his mother, but _Christ_ , Tony likes him.)

He’s subtle, with a dry wit that bites in the most unexpected places. He doesn’t whimper when Tony works on the arm, even when Tony knows it must hurt like hell. He makes Tony sandwiches that he leaves outside the lab, away from DUM-E and his motor oil. He never asks why Tony keeps a compression sleeve on his arm.

It takes a week, maybe two, or a month—Tony isn’t really paying attention, is still too wrapped up in apathy and pleasant numbness—for Tony to realize that Barnes is a _friend_.

(Tony doesn’t have friends.)

Tony panics.

It’s subtle at first ( ~~it’s not~~ ). Tony locks his lab, spends more time at work, goes to meetings he’d generally skip and talks to investors he’d generally avoid.

Pepper raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him the Tuesday that Tony goes to visit _Hammer Industries_ , as if he’s insane for making the trip. He’s not. Except for the part where he is (Justin Hammer is always a snake, even in prison, and Hammer Industries is still _his)_.

“Tones,” she starts, her voice that same low-pitched knowing that almost had him falling in love with her, all those years ago. Tony walks away before she can say anything more.

Rhodey doesn’t even try. Just looks at him once, takes in his slump and the eye bags and the ever present alcoholism and says “you know, you can get a tattoo over that shit.”

Tony doesn’t know how to tell Rhodey that currently the soulmark is the least of his issues, that he’s so unused to being loved (a _friend!_ ) that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, is paralyzed, is absolutely afraid.

He chuckles and says, “I know Rhodes, I’m already thinking about it.” ( ~~It’s a lie~~.)

Things comes to a head three weeks later. Four am, the time when it’s too late to still be night, but not quite early enough to be considered morning—Tony a bottle of wine in (pleasantly buzzed) and James (a _friend!_ ) banging on the lab door.

(Friday lets him in, calls it an _intervention_. Tony calls her a traitor.)

Barnes slams a glass of water down in front of him and says “Tony, what the _fuck_.”

(What the fuck is _right._ )

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony lies. (He does know. Knows that he’s an asshole ~~he’s always an asshole~~ and that Barnes has done nothing to deserve Tony’s thorough and systematic avoidance.)

Barnes’ grip around the water glass tightens, knuckles turning white. “Don’t fucking bullshit me Tony,” he hisses. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

He’s not. It’s true. But Tony finds himself wishing, just for a moment, that Barnes was. (It would be so much easier then.)

Still, Tony has lied to the media for years, sometimes lies to Pepper. Hell, he’s been lying to _himself_ since Afghanistan (Tony wants ~~to die~~ it to be easy again, but fuck at this point death might be easier). He looks Barnes dead in the eye and says, simple as breathing, “of course you aren’t an idiot Barnes. But still, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The glass shatters in Barnes’s fist.

Water douses Tony’s table, his half finished project sparks, the half-complete blueprints light up in flames. Tony jumps back, furiously smacking at where his shirt sleeve has fought fire. Barnes jumps into action, and after mere seconds, Friday is smothering the whole thing with foam. Dum-E tries to help, waves his fire extinguisher about, but ends up only spraying himself.

Barnes is on him almost immediately, putting out the fire. By the end of it, Tony is only slightly singed, his arm a tender red. (Tony barely feels it, waves Barnes off with an _I’m fine_ ~~he’s not~~.)

Barnes doesn’t buy it, is asking Friday for the first aid kit, setting it down in front of Tony and pushing up his sleeve to treat him when suddenly he freezes.

Full stop.

Barnes goes so still Tony almost thinks he’s dead. And then— soft breath, “ _Tony_.”

He’d almost forgotten it was there, as distracted as he’d been by friendship and panic and sweet sweet numbness, the messy star-spangled disaster on his arm. But it’s impossible to ignore now, Barnes looking at it wide-eyed, mouth slack, his hand gone soft and gentle against Tony’s skin.

“ _Tony_ ,” Barnes breathes out, “is _this_ why?”

And _huh_ , Tony is not as upset about this as he imagined he’d be, this uncomfortable knowing. If anything, the apathy is back, this time in full force, as he watches his soulmate (his _friend?_ ) stare, heartbroken and shaky, back at him.

“Sure Barnes,” Tony says (because he doesn’t care anymore, doesn’t give a fuck really ~~might as well die~~ ). “This is why.”

Tony watches Barnes stagger away from him in slow motion, muted like he’s seeing it happen from behind a screen. He sits there as Barnes sputters, something about making room and missing pieces, as he steps backward into Dum-E, almost trips over U, flees out of the lab pursued by demons that Tony can’t see (they are the demons that Tony has been living with for years now).

It’s quiet.

Tony likes it.

He locks his lab, sets Dum-E and U to cleaning up the mess, and falls asleep on his couch. Friday doesn’t say anything.

Of course, a person can only hide from Captain Stephen Grant Rogers (America’s Ass!) for so long.

Tony wakes up to banging on the door, Friday’s polite voice saying _-ogers is here to see you. Steve Rogers is requesting access to the lab._ Tony lets him in with a wave. Steve might kill him, has never liked him, no doubt knows they’re soulmates now, but hey, what’s the worst that can happen?

( ~~At least if Steve kills him he’ll be dead~~.)

Steve storms in with fury in his eyes (Tony didn’t miss the blunt-force righteousness). Barnes is behind him.

Steve’s jaw is set, shoulders stiff and fists clenched and suddenly, Tony can’t do this, doesn’t want to do this, absolutely refuses. Barnes is no better behind him, a mix of swirling anger and bone-crushing defeat, a hollow type of sadness that Tony is all too familiar with but refuses to acknowledge.

“It’s not yours,” Tony blurts out.

He’s lying. (Except it’s truth, just a little, because Tony doesn’t love Steve, won’t love Steve, and he can’t love Bucky, refuses to start, and the mark was gone for so long that it still feels foreign on Tony’s skin, like a tattoo instead of a piece of his soul, like a falsehood).

Steve’s eyes go flat and Barnes’ go stricken.

Tony bludgeons on. “It’s not,” he repeats. His mind is spinning, the story forming, finally, his genius good for something again.

“It was Howard,” Tony lies, ignoring the way Steve’s mouth gets tight, ignoring the way that this will shred Steve’s estimation of the man (Howard was a bastard anyway ~~Steve doesn’t deserve to admire him~~ ). “He put it on me. It’s a tattoo. He knew what yours looked like, wanted to connect me, wanted to connect himself to _greatness_.”

Tony spits the word out with vitriol. (Rule one: you can’t trust anything you’re handed.) Steve is looking at him with blank eyes, his jaw clenched so tight Tony imagines his teeth _must_ be cracking. Steve will believe him. Steve doesn’t want Tony for a soulmate anyway.

Barnes is a different story. Barnes is standing, eyes blown and posture open, lightly crumpled, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but doesn’t know what else could be true. His hands are trembling. Tony ignores him (ignores the feeling of friendship ~~a _friend_~~ crumbling to dust in his sternum).

“I’m not your soulmate,” Tony lies ( ~~except it _feels_ true~~).

(Rule two: soulmates mean jackshit.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a note in the comments if you liked it <3
> 
> Jay


End file.
